


Second Chance Christmas

by somewhereelse



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: *insert generic christmas movie summary here*Like: High school sweethearts, Tobin and Christen, broke up during college and haven’t seen each other since. What happens when they both move back home and, wouldn’t you know it, just in time for Christmas?
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 10
Kudos: 265





	Second Chance Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I want to read more of this ’verse, too.   
> ...  
> What do you mean I have to write it?
> 
> So in December I posted a fic that ends in January and now in January I’m posting a fic that ends in December. Tired of trying to figure out my brain. 
> 
> They’re, like, 28? Old enough for C to finish vet school and a residency. C’s a vet, btw. T is *insert generic, small town, christmas movie occupation here*.

_Cinnamon_ , Tobin repeats to herself as she peruses the spice racks.

Now would her mom want the brand name version or just generic store brand? She tries hard to remember what’s been in the pantry her last few visits home and comes up empty. Brand name, it is. After all, her mom bakes a lot, and it would hardly go to waste. After consulting the list, she plucks coriander, nutmeg, and clove off the shelf, too.

“ _Tobin?_ ”

She freezes at the voice. It’s a little higher pitched, probably from surprise, but still utterly recognizable. The jar almost falls from her hand, instinct causing her grip to tighten at the last second.

She used to fall asleep to that voice, first snuggled together on a couch, later on the phone while buried under a pile of blankets but never quite as warm. She used to listen to her voicemails on repeat, letting the cadence curl around her like the comforts of home. She used to dream about it and wake up with an ache in her heart.

(Honestly, she still dreams about it, and her heart still aches.)

Finally, when she thinks she’s got a hold of herself, Tobin turns and pushes a smile to her lips. “Hi, Chris.”

“Hi,” Christen replies softly, sounding dazed and shocked. She looks it, too, with the handle of her coffee creamer (the same old brand, go figure) dangling limply from her curled fingertips.

“You’re here? You’re home? You’re visiting?” she asks in quick succession, as if working through to the most obvious answer out loud.

Tobin’s not sure how to answer. (Because the real answer is _too_ real and too big for an awkward run-in in the baking aisle of the grocery store.) This is not how she wanted to see Christen again for the first time. So instead, she asks, “Can I— Can I give you a hug?”

“ _Oh._ ”

If she was shocked before, Christen sounds entirely floored by the request. She takes a second to think about it, Tobin’s heart hammering the entire time, before a minuscule smile tilts one corner of her mouth. No one else would see it, but Tobin’s spent too long memorizing Christen’s face to miss it.

“Of _course._ ”

Her answer is so sure and definitive that Tobin doesn’t hesitate to throw her arms around her. The feeling of Christen’s cold creamer against her back only grounds her, reminds her that this isn’t a dream at all but somehow reality. It’s a perfect homecoming and exactly what she’s been missing the last few days as she walked around the(ir) town in a haze.

Christen’s holding onto her just as tightly, and Tobin’s 99% sure she’s not imagining the quiet sniffle into her shoulder. “Missed you,” is the even quieter confession Tobin barely hears before Christen’s stepping back, face and eyes suddenly red.

The sight is remarkably familiar and the worst kind of déjà vu.

This time, Tobin promises herself, will be different. She doesn’t turn her back, she doesn’t jump into a car and then a plane, and she sure as hell won’t let Christen go (again). So that’s exactly what she does.

Christen looks surprised (again) to look down and find Tobin holding onto her hand and then erasing the distance she created.

Tobin still doesn’t mean for this to happen in the baking aisle of a grocery store but she’s starting to realize the _where_ doesn’t matter at all.

“I missed you, too,” Tobin declares, voice clear and true.

Christen turns redder, either from having her confession heard or the volume and certainty of Tobin’s.

“I heard you moved back and, well, I kind of did, too. Do you maybe want to”—she slows, cowardice replacing bravery as Christen’s disbelief grows more and more obvious—“catch up sometime?” The end of her question’s directed to the scuffed linoleum floor.

It’s not what she meant to say.

It’s not what she meant to say _at all_.

This is crazy, right?

They haven’t seen each other in _years_. They’re not remotely the same people they were at the end of high school. They’ve grown and changed and hopefully matured but gotten just glimpses of it all through social media, which they kept each other on only because they were supposed to be friends first. (That’s what they always promised, even though the heartache made it hard to remember.)

“Like a date?”

The question’s startling, and Tobin’s head snaps back up. Christen’s biting down on her lip, and her shoulders are practically at her ears, and she looks as anxious as the day she told Tobin she accepted Stanford. But her eyes shine with hope and desire, the same hope and desire reflected in Tobin’s.

A smile slowly spreads across her face before Tobin nods. “ _Exactly_ like a date.”

* * *

_“Please tell me you’re not actually this stupid.”_

“Hi to you, too,” Christen laughs as she mindlessly picks up a sweater for inspection. There’s still a few weeks left till Christmas, and she just needs a few more things but she already considers herself behind on her shopping. “What are you talking about?”

_“I didn’t want to believe Mom when she told me, but she was so excited, it was kind of hard not to.”_

The sweater drops back onto the table, and she folds it absently. “Tyler, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_“Tell me you’re not going on a date with Tobin Heath of all people.”_

Christen sucks her cheeks in then lets them go with a pop. She waves at the bored but friendly store clerk and goes to find a secluded bench to sit on and have this strange conversation. “So what if I am?”

_“_ Christen. _I didn’t say anything before, but this is exactly why I didn’t want you moving home.”_

Her eyes roll at her sister’s exaggerated response, and her response is all sass. “Because you somehow predicted that I would go on a date with my ex-girlfriend?”

_“Because you’re already regressing! Look, I loved Tobin, alright? If I had any say about it,_ she _would be my little sister, but Mom and Dad stuck me with you.”_

“Oh thanks,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes again, “Love you, too.”

_“I_ do _love you, Christen. That’s why I’m warning you against this. Did you forget she broke your heart?”_

“Ty, we were _kids_.” Tyler scoffs at the brush-off, probably thinking of all the teary calls she fielded that year, so Christen tacks on the reminder, “And we broke each other’s hearts. High school relationships are a little bit doomed like that.”

_“And now you’re all grown up and repeating history? Come on, be realistic. You’re not the same person, and I’m sure Tobin isn’t either. You don’t need to fall into old habits just because you’re home and feeling nostalgic.”_

“Hey, I appreciate the concern, but it’s not like I’ve spent years pining over my high school girlfriend. I didn’t take this job and move home on the hopes of reconnecting with Tobin. It just _happened_. I lived my life, Tyler, and I experienced enough to realize that Tobin, _whoever_ she might be now, is worth a second chance.”

Tyler doesn’t get a chance to respond to her impassioned defense before Christen hears someone over her shoulder.

“Gee, thanks.”

Fumbling with her phone, Christen whips around to find an uncharacteristically shy Tobin. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets, and she’s got her head hung low. For a moment, Christen just gapes at her before she jerks her phone back to her ear. “Tyler, I got to go.”

_“Is that Tobin? Tell her hi and no hard feelings! Just looking out for my baby sis!”_

“ _Channing_ is the baby! And bye already!” Christen slams her thumb on the red hang up button then closes her eyes and blows out a hard sigh. Finally, she opens her eyes and gives Tobin a smile that’s more of a wince. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough. Sorry,” she shrugs and offers a commiserating smile, “If it helps, Katie and Perry yelled at me, too.”

“Tyler wasn’t _yelling._ She was just—” Christen pauses to think of a kinder alternative.

“—being a big sister. Ty’s always been great at that.”

This time, Tobin’s smile is more genuine, like she’s remembering all their adventures together. Tyler was just enough grades ahead to feel protective over, instead of annoyed by, her middle sister during high school and readily took Tobin under her wing, too. There’s some truth to Tyler’s earlier teasing because she and Tobin bonded so quickly that Christen did sometimes feel like the odd one out.

Christen’s quiet, reminiscing and thinking of how to soften the blow of Tyler’s sudden betrayal when a near avalanche of words pours out of Tobin.

“It didn’t _just_ happen, by the way. You and me running into each other, I mean. It’s not like I was stalking you or anything, but, I don’t know, you never really left me, Chris. When Mom mentioned you moved back, and this opportunity came up, it felt a little like fate, you know? I sound crazy, don’t I? I’m guessing that’s not at all how _you_ feel about me.”

Tobin’s back to looking shy, cheeks flaming and feet shuffling. At the sight, all of the leftover defensiveness from her conversation with Tyler evaporates. There’s a long-buried truth she’s been ignoring for years, but most especially ever since she ran into Tobin a few days ago. And after Tobin’s confession, an astoundingly rare show of vulnerability, Christen can’t help but reciprocate.

“So I wasn’t being entirely honest with Tyler. I mean, I did live my life and everything, career-wise, relationship-wise, too. I dated! I swear, I did. It’s just that no one really measured up to you, to _us_. And _that’s_ crazy, right? To compare every relationship I’ve been in to my first?”

“Guess we’re both crazy,” Tobin says quietly, looking overwhelmed but pleased by her reciprocated preoccupation.

Christen smiles. “I consider myself in good company.” She pats the empty space next to her and watches as Tobin drops down, careful to leave a few inches between them. “Twice in one week, huh? I always forget just how small this town is.”

“Yeah, I’d complain but I like running into you,” Tobin charms with a grin, “What are you doing all the way on this side of town?”

The blush is quick because she’s no longer used to Tobin’s casual compliments, but she ignores it because she’s got some amount of self-respect. “This is actually closer to the clinic. And Christmas shopping, of course. I’m almost done. You?”

“Same, except I just started.”

They lock eyes and grin. A second later, they’re bent over laughing and completely ignoring the people staring at the spectacle they make. Tobin finally takes a deep breath to level out and ends up leaning against her, which steals Christen’s breath in an entirely different way.

It’s not funny. It’s not even remotely funny. But they’ve never been so happy to discover that some things never change. Christen the over-prepared and Tobin the procrastinator, reunited once more.

“I’m kind of bored of the stores in here,” Tobin says once they’re back to normal. She shifts to look at her, and Christen immediately misses the warmth against her arm. “Want to go to Main Street?”

“Yes!” is her excited answer.

Christen _loves_ Main Street. It looks like the backdrop of every cheesy, made-for-TV, rom-com, even more so during the holidays, and she always finds the best gifts there. Honestly, she doesn’t know why she didn’t start there in the first place but she’s glad she didn’t since it means going with Tobin now.

(Main Street is also chock-full of sweet memories with Tobin—the first time they held hands, their first date, their first kiss, and so much more—but that’s got nothing to do with the golden glow to her memories of the place. Nothing at all.)

* * *

Tobin’s not quite sure what she expected when she approached Christen at the mall. She immediately recognized the other woman and saw the signs of distress, her hunched posture and the other ways she nearly curled in on herself right there on a bench. So she thought of going over and breaking the tension and instead walked in on the Press version of the conversation that already happened in the Heath family.

And if that was unexpected, then she certainly didn’t expect to end up like _this_ , so many years later.

Yet here she is, strolling down Main Street, all decked out in holiday decorations as per usual this time of year. The stores may have changed, shuttered or relocated or new-to-them, but there’s something about the scene that hasn’t. Tobin’s still sneaking glances at pretty Christen Press out of the corner of her eye and trying hard not to blush every time their hands brush together, which is far too often to be accidental.

It’s just like high school all over again, and, somehow, she doesn’t hate it. In fact, she might even love it.

She definitely likes when Christen takes her hand without a second thought to pull her into store after store. Together, they make a significant dent in Tobin’s Christmas list, so it looks a little like she has her shit together this year, and even find another figurine to add to Christen’s grandmother’s collection. Before they know it, the stores are closing, and they’re slowly meandering down the quiet street, shivering but refusing to admit it and end the night.

“Hey, I think Pop’s is still open.” Tobin squints at the end of the block. Sure enough, the “Open” sign is flashing at the soda fountain that’s practically a town institution, and a group of teenagers walks through the door.

Christen’s pouting when she looks back and smiles, pleased with the find to delay their separation. “It’s the middle of winter,” she complains.

Tobin laughs. Christen’s never liked the cold and blames it on being born in southern California, even though she hasn’t lived there since she was a baby. Back in high school, Tobin just used it as an excuse to always be cuddling her girlfriend.

“Is Christen Press really saying “no” to a sundae and hot chocolate at Pop’s?”

She barely finishes the question before Christen’s smiling wide, taking her hand once more, and speeding down the sidewalk.

It feels _good_ and _right_ to spend time together again. Tobin’s shoulders relax, and her heart eases (a little into an old love). All that anxiety she had about seeing Christen again, broaching the idea of maybe _seeing_ each other again, falls away. Whatever else happens she’s grateful for their restored friendliness.

* * *

As much as Christen hates to admit it, Tyler’s right to worry.

Even in high school, she and Tobin were fiercely loyal to each other. Their “us against the world” mentality came first from being best friends, well before the L word entered the mix. Taking that nerve-wracking plunge of admitting they were in love, and with each other no less, and then becoming girlfriends cemented their bond. Christen and Tobin being inseparable went from a teasing comment to undeniable reality.

Their attachment—both of them refused to think of it as dependency—was so strong their parents feared for their futures. Thankfully, cooler heads, and the overbearing influence of older sisters, prevailed. When it came time to choose colleges, each girl reluctantly accepted the school that was right for her, instead of blindly following one another. The goodbyes were difficult and tearful, and they made a go of it for the first semester before admitting defeat and letting college and the next phase of life take over.

(The hardest part was accepting their sisters’ advice that maybe, just maybe, they _weren’t_ what was best for each other, at least not at that moment in time).

In hindsight, Christen knows that she and Tobin, when it comes to each other, are remembered more for their intensity than their common sense.

She can’t help but wonder if, years later, they’re falling into the same patterns.

It’s a weighty thought to have when she’s practically yawning into a patient file because they stayed up on the phone way too late last night. Not for the first time, Christen’s glad she decided to buy her own house instead of move back in with her parents, even if temporarily. She can just imagine the teasing they would have inflicted on her this morning and she doesn’t need any comments from the peanut gallery right now. 

Christen’s all too aware of how she and Tobin have hardly stopped talking since their Christmas shopping excursion. They’re acting like teenagers again, staying up practically all night on the phone. Except instead of a landline or flip phones, now there are unlimited minutes and unlimited texts and multiple apps for keeping in touch throughout the day, too, and she’s never been so distracted. Based on the speed of her responses, Tobin’s in just as deep. It’s like they’re obsessed with each other all over again, but no one’s going to find it understandable or endearing because they’re definitely not sixteen and in the throes of first love anymore.

“Hey, doc, exam room two’s ready.”

The assistant breezes by before moving onto the next task, and Christen manages a smile in acknowledgment. It’s an abrupt crash back to reality but a necessary one. What she needs is to focus, on building a good relationship with her patients and their owners in this new practice and not on reconnecting with her high school sweetheart. 

At least not during office hours.

* * *

Tobin’s been through this before. The agonizing wait before seeing her again, the endless reliving every moment together, the undeniable fluttering of her heart at just the sound of Christen’s laugh. It’s a familiar experience for everyone involved and those around them but no less heart-pounding.

(Their mothers were confused but supportive. Their fathers couldn’t decide if they were shocked or relieved. Their siblings’ comments about how at least they couldn’t get accidentally knocked up went unappreciated. Basically nothing has changed on that front.)

So it’s fine that Christen hasn’t responded to her last text. They’re both adults with real jobs, even if Tobin is experiencing a rare lull due to the holidays, and she’ll see her in a few hours anyway.

Tonight, they have their official date, the one they agreed on at the grocery store. Despite having met for coffee twice since shopping, Tobin hasn’t felt this nervous in years—October 10, junior year of high school, her first date ever and with one Christen Press, to be exact. Like that very first date, because they’d already done just about every first date activity imaginable as _friends_ , this second first date took some thinking.

While neither of them have any desire to forget their high school relationship, both of them are looking for a little bit of a fresh start. Which ruled out every reputable dining establishment in their town as each one is already tied to some memory, or more like _memories_ , of them together. Tobin finally bit the bullet and asked her brother, the sibling least likely to crash her date or rat her out to their sisters, for a recommendation farther afield. By farther, Tobin means the next town over where Jeff’s lived since finishing college. Even though it’s more of an effort, she and Christen are both willing to make it, genuine in their desire to reconnect.

But now that it’s go time, the shared intent and careful planning does little to ease her nerves. She’s twitchy the entire thirty minute drive to the restaurant. Christen’s meeting her there since the timing of her last appointment is usually unpredictable so she doesn’t even have the benefit of the other woman’s presence to soothe her worries.

When she pulls into the restaurant parking lot, only five minutes late because she’s really trying here, Christen’s out front. Her coat’s unbuttoned over her long dress with a fitted top and a flowy skirt and draped loosely around her shoulders. On any other night, she would be complaining about the cold. But tonight she’s probably keeping warm with all her _pacing_.

Tobin scrambles to park, unbuckle her seatbelt, and climb out of the car without injuring herself or others. “What? What’s wrong?” She realizes she left her phone in the cup holder, but that’s fine. The only person she wants to talk to right now is in front of her, looking unfairly beautiful even with her hands wringing and forehead scrunched.

“Oh,” Christen stops in her tracks, and her expression relaxes into a shy smile, “You look really pretty.”

“Thank you,” Tobin answers automatically then lets the compliment sink into her bones. Christen’s only ever seen her dressed up when she was forced to, nearly kicking and screaming, by her family. Getting dressed this time, she wondered— _worried_ —what Christen would think of her outfit when it was her own choice.

(It’s the dress she wore to Jeff’s college graduation, rescued from the back of her closet, the winter coat she keeps for more formal occasions, and her favorite heeled boots. Her mom hummed with interest when she came down the stairs, and the reaction was unusual enough that Tobin asked about it. She got back an answer—“You look nice but _comfortable_ , not like we’re forcing you to play dress up.”—that made her smile.)

More deliberately, she surveys Christen, instead of focusing on her twitchy behavior, and tells her, “You’re beautiful. Like you always are but, you know, more.”

“So eloquent,” Christen teases and leans in for a brief hug that settles the last of Tobin’s nerves. She knew all she needed was just to be around Christen, and everything would fall into place again.

Then the crease between Christen’s eyebrows returns, and her next words shake everything up again.

* * *

“I think this is a mistake.”

“What!?”

Tobin sounds shocked and dismayed, and Christen literally claps a hand to her forehead because _she_ is supposed to be the eloquent one. “I don’t mean that like it sounds. Just. Kind of freaking out over here.” The admission is quiet but honest, and Tobin slumps in relief.

“I was, too. But this—” Tobin gestures between them and almost continues before taking another second. “ _You’re_ the one who called this a date.” 

Instead of some heartfelt words of reassurance, she sounds petulant, like they’re seventeen all over again and Christen’s interrupted their make out session to force her to study, and instinct makes Christen roll her eyes. For just a second, until Christen remembers that _she’s_ the one who knocked them off course. “I know, I know! I just— Can we not, though? Let’s catch up, like you said.”

Tobin blows out a hard sigh, looking frustrated. “Christen, we’ve been catching up for a week. If you don’t want to—”

“I want to. Of course, I want to. That’s not it at all.” She shakes her head emphatically, curls whipping out. Christen figures she must look pretty pathetic at not having the words to express herself because Tobin’s frustration disappears and she steps forward to reach for her hand.

When they make contact, their fingers align before intertwining, and then Tobin’s rubbing the pad of her thumb over the knuckle of hers. The air trapped in her lungs escapes in a rush, and her shoulders lose a bit of tension. Like she felt the same physical release, Tobin smiles gently.

It’s just not _right_ how _right_ that simple act feels after all these years.

“Are you scared? Because you don’t need to be. Chris, it’s just us.”

Those aren’t the words she hoped to hear but they are the right words to unleash the torrent of what Christen’s really thinking and feeling.

“Tobin, there is no _just_ us. It’s **_US_** , all caps, underline, bold, italics, the works, okay? And what if we’re wrong? What if this really is some high school fantasy that we built up in our heads and it can’t match reality? What if this is it? What if we crash and burn tonight and everything we’ve been holding onto for all these years has been for nothing?”

Tobin widens her eyes, drops her hand, and takes a giant step backwards. If she weren’t already familiar with that (slightly exaggerated) look of panic, Christen would be offended. 

“Oh. Oh, shit. Um, okay, never mind then. We’re just catching up.”

“Tobin!” she cries out, but there’s already a hint of a smile to her voice. Christen’s ridiculously relieved that Tobin realizes the importance of tonight, too. “You’re supposed to be the laid-back one.”

“What?” Tobin runs a hand through her hair (down and natural, the way she prefers it when she’s not working out or running around, and it’s nice to see that hasn’t changed). “You can’t say things like that and expect me not to freak out, too.”

Christen shrugs and concedes, “That’s fair, I guess.” But she knows that if she just waits a few seconds, Tobin will have one of those rare moments of profundity, and it’ll be worth the nerves.

Finally, the lines in her forehead relax, and an excited gleam lights up her eyes. Tobin steps closer again and takes both her hands this time. “Look, I can’t promise you that we got this. I have no idea what’s going to happen tonight or tomorrow or a month from now. I can promise you that I think we’re worth a second chance and that there’s no one else I want to make that effort with.”

“Me neither,” Christen confirms, her smile growing before she continues, “But it was never really effort with us, was it?”

Tobin smiles back, a little shyly. “No, that’s what made us special.”

* * *

They’re _not_ dating.

Maybe more accurately, they’re not _calling_ it dating.

What they do is text all day, talk into the small hours of the night, and meet for coffee at least every other day. Their families have again slipped into calling them “Tobin-and-Christen” or “Christen-and-Tobin”, depending on whose house it is, and the practically everyone in town expects to see one with the other. It’s been a few weeks since she officially moved home, and Tobin hasn’t gone more than forty-eight hours without setting eyes on Christen. This is exactly what she hoped for, in that long-shot fantasy right before she made the decision, but didn’t think would ever be reality.

(There were other big reasons. She’s missed her family and that small town community feeling. She felt burnt out in the city and wanted to be closer to nature again. She has a new niece and she’s determined not to miss out on her early years like she did with her nephews. But, still, the possibility of Christen was a factor, and a hope, and a dream, and a prayer.)

Tobin’s the happiest she’s been in years.

“What do you think?” Christen asks, breaking into her thoughts.

Tobin hums and takes a sip of coffee to cover for her daydreaming. She sees the page Christen still has pulled up and the button she’s hovering over and makes an educated guess. “I like it a lot. Would you come with me to see it?”

She takes the laptop to fill out the form and submit her information, giving Christen a minute to think it over. After finally starting her apartment or house hunting search, she enlisted Christen to help. As nice as it is to be taken care of by her mom, Tobin’s a grown adult, and it’s slowly becoming suffocating. And since Christen just went through the process a month ago, and knows most of her particularities, there’s no one better for the job. That’s evidenced by how Christen already has Tobin lining up viewings even though she’s not looking to move until after the holidays.

“As your friend?” Christen finally responds, although it’s not really answering the question.

Tobin knows what she’s asking. They’ve been on the brink of it since even before their second first date. It should be easy to say the word. They both used to practically shout it from the rooftops, so in love and so proud. But this time, they’re more tentative, Christen’s speech about the magnitude of their reconnection having left its mark. Neither of them want to mess up this second chance by rushing into it.

Nodding slowly, she confirms, “As my friend.” A deep breath, then, “Also as someone really important to me? Who I hope might want to spend a lot of time at my future, hypothetical place?”

It’s a step. Not the biggest one in the world, but just enough that Christen looks relieved and pleased by the answer. “I’d love to.”

* * *

“Honey, take the cookies on the counter with you. They’re for Cindy.”

“Sure, Mom,” she mumbles, occupied with lacing up her boots. Then it registers, and she grins excitedly. Her mom’s the actual, undisputed baking _queen_ of the town. “Hey, can I have one?”

“Only if you’re going to give me notes.”

Christen pops up from the stairs and chases her mom into the kitchen. “Wait, are these practice for the town baking competition? Are you still partnering with Mrs. Heath for that?”

Ever since she visited Tobin’s house last week, Mrs. Heath has been asking her to call her Cindy since she’s obviously an adult now. Christen couldn’t help the face she made. That’s going to be one hard habit to break. (Tobin, though, took to calling her mom Stacy like a duck to water, and BD has always been BD.)

“Of course, we have a nine-year winning record to defend.”

Her mom’s completely casual and unbothered when she says it and doesn’t even react to Christen’s wide eyes and gaping mouth.

Finally, Christen collects herself enough to groan, “ _Mom!_ Tobin and I broke up _like nine years_ _ago_.”

“I’m well aware, honey, but Cindy and I weren’t going to sacrifice our friendship just because our daughters needed to pull their heads out of their butts.”

Christen’s dumbfounded. She can’t believe all these years later, all the accidental but kind of on purpose avoidance of the Heaths whenever she was in town, and their moms were going behind their backs the entire time. “You have to be kidding me! You guys are the ones who wanted us to go to different colleges in the first place. Where’s Dad? He’ll back me up on this.”

Stacy smirks, aware and amused that she’s turned her middle daughter’s world upside down. “He’s out golfing with Jeff. He’ll be home for dinner if you want to continue this then.”

“Unbelievable. You two are unbelievable. _Traitors_ ,” Christen scoffs, not an ounce of sincerity to it.

Her mom just shakes her head, not even hiding her smile. In contrast to their cautionary sisters, both sets of their parents have been over-the-moon excited about their reconnection from the start. It’s one less thing to worry about but it’s also piqued Christen’s interest about something from long ago.

“Can I ask you a question? It’s, like, over a decade late.”

“You can always ask me anything.” Stacy points at the barstool opposite the sink, and Christen eases onto it, resting her elbows on the counter in front of her.

When she speaks, the question’s directed to her folded hands. “How come you didn’t freak out when I told you?”

“Told me what? That you’re seeing Tobin again?” Christen shakes her head, still staring down at the counter, feeling and probably looking like a kid again, and then the penny drops for her mom. She gently asks, “You mean, when you first told us that you like girls?”

“Yeah, I mean _I_ was freaking out about telling you and Dad. Tyler tried to help, but it was the early 2000s. People weren’t all that progressive, especially around here. But you just smiled and said, “Okay.” Don’t get me wrong. It was wonderful but it was also very _weird_. Then we never really talked about it because I was so relieved I just took it at face value.”

Stacy nods along thoughtfully, and Christen tries to wait patiently. It’s clear her mom is taking the question seriously and wants to give her a complete and honest answer. She’s never been more grateful for the loving, accepting people her parents are.

“Well, for starters, we’ve never been very religious so there was none of that to contend with. Then we had our suspicions. You and Tobin were just _so_ close, always wanting to spend time together. But mainly? It’s because all we ever want is for you to be happy and loved. And from the moment you brought Tobin home and every second after that, we could tell how very much you two loved each other. When you told us it was love like _that_ , I knew there was no better person in the world to show you how to love and be loved for the first time. Nothing else mattered.”

Christen can’t believe she’s a full grown adult, yet somehow once again sitting in her parents’ kitchen and tearing up over coming out and Tobin Heath. And her mom doesn’t have any consideration for her haywire emotions but continues tugging at her heartstrings.

“I know the All-Knowing Order of Sisters has decided you two are crazy, and maybe they’re right. But as your mother, I can safely say I’ve never seen anyone love you more and better than Tobin Heath or seen _you_ love anyone more and better than Tobin. That you two had the strength to let go and give each other time and space to grow and learn, only reaffirmed that. So if you and Tobin want to try again, I think that’s beautiful.”

Finally done, her mom rounds the island to hug her tightly and press a long kiss to her forehead. Christen’s still snuggled into her side, sniffling and holding on with all her might, when Stacy speaks again.

“Plus, now, Cindy and I can stop sneaking around.”

A teary laugh bursts out of her before Christen agrees, “Yes, your baked goods affair is _very_ tawdry.”

* * *

She’s been bouncing around so much that her mom orders her into the backyard to kick a ball around or something, _anything_. 

(The exact words were, “For the love of everything good, get out of my kitchen, Tobin. And do not come back in this house until Christen gets here.”)

When she goes to do what she’s been told, Tobin hears her mom calling her back. “Sweetheart, wait a second.”

“Yes, Mother?” Tobin questions, overly serious, as she leans against the doorway.

Her mom sends her a look that she just knows means, “Don’t sass me, young lady.” With an apologetic shrug, she shuffles forward and folds her mom into a hug that’s returned after an annoyed sigh.

“Oh, _now_ , you...” Cindy trails off before letting it go.

Tobin grins, pleased her distraction has worked. “What’s up, Ma?”

“I just want to check in with you. You’ve been very busy lately, trying to leave the nest again. I think I saw you more at Christmastime when you _weren’t_ living here.”

Just like in high school, her mom’s not exactly subtle. For the last week, when she’s not at work, she’s with Christen or house hunting. And by house hunting, she means house hunting _with Christen_ , which is even what they’re doing this afternoon. Even when she goes to visit one of her siblings, she usually takes Christen. Really, she’s just almost always with Christen. So it’s obvious what—or _who_ —her mom’s asking about.

Still, Tobin can’t keep the smile off her face when she reframes the question. “You mean I’ve been spending a lot of time with Christen.”

The response is another look that this time means, “You said it, not me.”

“I’m good, Mom. I’m really, really happy actually. Moving home was a big decision, and we’ve talked about the reasons behind it, but, uh, I never told you that Christen was one of them. And I’d be really happy to be home no matter what, but I’m really, _really_ happy with the way things with Chris are going.”

She blows out a big breath at the end of her little speech and finally looks up at her mom. As expected, Cindy’s smiling softly, pleased to have the verbal confirmation of what’s been so obvious. They share another hug before Tobin’s restless bouncing breaks the moment.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” if Tobin’s not seeing things, a tear gets wiped away, “but, sweetheart, I always knew _some_ of moving home was about Christen. You are not exactly subtle.”

Tobin laughs because that’s just what she was thinking about her mom.

“I know your sisters have been giving you a hard time, but honestly? I’m watching you both be cautious about this, careful not to get your hopes up or put too much pressure on anything. Yet it’s undeniable. You and Christen make each other so happy. It’s wonderful to see, and I’ve loved having her around again.”

On cue, the doorbell rings. Tobin’s torn between running to Christen to hide her tears from her mom or staying in the kitchen to hide her tears from Christen. Before she can decide, Cindy calls out, “It’s open, Christen! We’re in the kitchen.”

Her discomposure doesn’t last long, and only Cindy’s eye roll at her excitable behavior keeps her from meeting Christen in the hall. Tobin can hardly stay in place as she hears the door open, followed by the sounds of Christen taking off her coat and shoes. When she finally appears in the doorway, Christen’s wearing a stern expression, which is at odds with the cellophane-wrapped plate of cookies in her hands.

“And _what_ do you have to say for yourself?”

Ignoring her tone, because Stacy’s cookies are just too good, Tobin’s about to beg Christen for one, but her mom interrupts with, “Oh dear. I hoped you wouldn’t find out this way.”

Then Christen bursts out laughing. Tobin’s still confused but accepts the plate Christen pushes to her and tears through the wrapping while watching her mom readily embrace Christen. Her smile only has a little to do with the melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookie but has a lot to do with her past and present coming together beautifully.

* * *

They spend the day of Christmas Eve watching their moms demolish the baking competition and the night of Christmas Eve with their families. But the minute the others start heading to bed, Tobin and Christen are pulling on their coats and lacing up their boots. When they meet at their spot, the street corner that’s nearly exactly halfway between their parents’ houses, they grin at each other, and then Tobin tilts her head in the direction of the park, and then they’re off.

It’s a quiet walk, not even the crunch of snow under their feet. Even though the mountains are only two hours away, the town almost never gets snow. So it’s just a cold, dark night, with nothing but the connection between them for warmth and light. (That’s more than enough.)

Surprisingly, Tobin’s the first to break the silence. “I don’t know if it’s too soon for this but I want to get you a present. Obviously, it won’t be on time—maybe it can be for your birthday instead—but is that okay?”

Christen doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Only if I can get you one, too. I’ve been trying to think of something.”

“Yeah?” Tobin grins, pleased that her idea was well-received and already sort of reciprocated, “Come up with anything good?”

“Well,” Christen starts, stopping then whirling to face Tobin. The opening’s right there, and all she has to do is tamp down the nerves and take it. But Tobin can be oblivious sometimes, and Christen wonders how long she’ll be circling the point before Tobin realizes what she’s actually getting at. “There’s something I’ve been considering. It’s pretty much the only thing left on _my_ list, but I was thinking we could share it.”

Tobin’s smile is so big her eyes crinkle. The suggestion is just _so_ Christen. She’s an excellent gift-giver because she’s so observant, but Christen’s special skill is finding gifts that she might also get to enjoy. The thing is, their interests have always been so divergent that Tobin’s used to gifts specifically for _just_ her. And seeing what Christen thinks is a great gift for adult Tobin is kind of what she’s looking forward to this time around.

“How are we going to share a Christmas present _you_ want?”

Shrugging casually, Christen explains, “Easy, ’m pretty sure you want it, too.”

The vague answer makes Tobin narrow her eyes in suspicion. She’s getting the feeling this isn’t about a Christmas present at all. Turns out Christen was worried about talking in circles for nothing because Tobin cuts to the chase quickly and demands, “Wow me then.”

Tobin watches as Christen becomes bashful, burrowing a little into her coat collar. It only amps up her curiosity, especially when she tries to buy even more time by mumbling, “It’s not Christmas yet.”

The excuse is flimsy, and Tobin doesn’t let her get away with it. Suddenly, Christen’s wishing that, just this once, Tobin _is_ more oblivious because, now that the moment’s here, she’s not quite sure she has the guts to seize it. But Tobin doesn’t help her out and instead scoffs, “ _Chris_. It’s ten at night on Christmas Eve. It’s not like you can go out and buy it before tomorrow. Just tell me.”

“Okay, you asked for it,” she agrees reluctantly. The butterflies are all aflutter, and the evidence is written all over her face. Tobin’s stuck waiting on pins and needles until Christen musters up her courage and breathes out in a rush, “Tobin Heath, will you be my girlfriend? Again?”

Her heart stops. When it starts again, Tobin can just barely feel the sensation in her fingers and toes. Then she replays the words in her head, and it’s like she’s being warmed from the inside out. Her fingers flex from the phantom pinpricks and brush against the item buried deep in her pocket, the one she’s nearly forgotten about. Tobin smiles wide in the face of Christen’s growing anxiety at her silence.

Tobin’s not saying anything. And maybe she’s just stunned from the suddenness of the question, but isn’t this what they’ve been building toward for weeks now? Christen’s contemplating turning tail and hoofing it back to her parents’ when Tobin finally opens her mouth.

“In that case, I _do_ have a present for you right now.”

And that’s not at all what she expected to hear. Christen harrumphs, actually makes that exact sound, and Tobin stops fumbling with whatever she’s doing to laugh.

“Are you going to answer the question?” Christen prods. She _better_ and _soon_.

“In a second,” Tobin mumbles. She’s struggling to free her hand from her coat pocket but finally manages. Then she’s holding her arm up high, dangling a sprig of mistletoe in the space above their heads.

There’s a second more of confusion before Christen laughs, delighted by her antics. “Where did you even get that?”

“Snagged it from one of the baking entries this morning.” It was a long shot and kind of presumptuous, but Tobin figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Everything else about this second chance with Christen has been like a fairytale, so there had to be decent odds they’d stumble into a romantic moment on Christmas Eve.

“Can you kiss me already? My arm’s getting tired,” Tobin whines when Christen still just stands there and stares at her.

Two can play that game. She hums and squints up at the little bit of greenery, like she’s really thinking about it. Then Christen shrugs. “I don’t know. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Tobin grumbles before giving a big sigh, like she’s really bothered by it. There’s no stopping her smile, though, when she says, “Christen Press, I’d love to be your girlfriend again. But only if we share and you’re my girlfriend again, too, because you were right, you know? You are definitely on my list.”

“Say it again,” Christen smirks as she closes the distance between them in the slowest of movements. Someone else might think she wants the answer to her question again, but Tobin knows her too well for that.

Tobin smirks right back, knowing exactly what her _girlfriend_ wants to hear. “You were right,” she repeats, finally dropping her arm to wrap around Christen’s shoulders, while her victorious laugh shakes both of them until Tobin’s laughing, too. After they’ve caught their breaths, they stay smiling, beaming really, inches from each other’s faces.

Eventually, once the tension is overwhelming, they break the quiet moment. 

“I’ll take my present now,” Christen says softly, eyes on Tobin’s lips. She slips her arms around Tobin’s waist and carefully pulls her close, intent on erasing the last of the distance. 

Just before their lips meet, Tobin declares, “Best Christmas _ever._ ”

Christen would point out that Tobin’s wrong—it’s not actually Christmas yet—but she’s a little occupied.

(And, actually, they’re both a little wrong because their best Christmas ever is really next year and then the year after that and then the year after that and then—)

**Author's Note:**

> HNY. Hope this decade is a little less of a dumpster fire.


End file.
